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    <title>1. CHAPTER IX</title>
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    <div class="chapter" id="id1035002"><h2>1. CHAPTER IX</h2>


<p id="id1035007"><span id="id118216"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->

Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles. 
The visit afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day;
and all that she might be supposed to have lost on the side
of dignified seclusion, must be amply repaid in the splendour
of popularity.  She must have delighted the Coles—worthy people,
who deserved to be made happy!—And left a name behind her that would
not soon die away.
</p>

<p id="id1035010"><span id="id118221"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common; and there were
two points on which she was not quite easy.  She doubted whether
she had not transgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying
her suspicions of Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank Churchill. 
It was hardly right; but it had been so strong an idea, that it
would escape her, and his submission to all that she told,
was a compliment to her penetration, which made it difficult
for her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her tongue.
</p>

<p id="id1035014"><span id="id118230"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax;
and there she had no doubt.  She did unfeignedly and unequivocally
regret the inferiority of her own playing and singing.  She did
most heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood—and sat
down and practised vigorously an hour and a half.
</p>

<p id="id1034994"><span id="id118227"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
She was then interrupted by Harriet’s coming in; and if Harriet’s
praise could have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted.
</p>

<p id="id1035020"><span id="id118242"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh! if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!”
</p>

<p id="id1035018"><span id="id118248"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Don’t class us together, Harriet.  My playing is no more like
her’s, than a lamp is like sunshine.”
</p>

<p id="id1035036"><span id="id118257"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh! dear—I think you play the best of the two.  I think you play
quite as well as she does.  I am sure I had much rather hear you. 
Every body last night said how well you played.”
</p>

<p id="id1035045"><span id="id118269"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt the difference. 
The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised,
but Jane Fairfax’s is much beyond it.”
</p>

<p id="id1035053"><span id="id118280"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does,
or that if there is any difference nobody would ever find it out. 
Mr. Cole said how much taste you had; and Mr. Frank Churchill talked
a great deal about your taste, and that he valued taste much more
than execution.”
</p>

<p id="id1035056"><span id="id118285"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Ah! but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet.”
</p>

<p id="id1035058"><span id="id118292"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Are you sure?  I saw she had execution, but I did not know she had
any taste.  Nobody talked about it.  And I hate Italian singing.—
There is no understanding a word of it.  Besides, if she does play
so very well, you know, it is no more than she is obliged to do,
because she will have to teach.  The Coxes were wondering last night
whether she would get into any great family.  How did you think the
Coxes looked?”
</p>

<p id="id1035065"><span id="id118297"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Just as they always do—very vulgar.”
</p>

<p id="id1035067"><span id="id118304"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“They told me something,” said Harriet rather hesitatingly;“
but it is nothing of any consequence.”
</p>

<p id="id1035076"><span id="id118313"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful
of its producing Mr. Elton.
</p>

<p id="id1035082"><span id="id118319"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“They told me—-that Mr. Martin dined with them last Saturday.”
</p>

<p id="id1035089"><span id="id118327"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh!“
</p>

<p id="id1035092"><span id="id118332"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him
to stay to dinner.”
</p>

<p id="id1035084"><span id="id118340"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh!“
</p>

<p id="id1035101"><span id="id118345"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. 
I do not know what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I
should go and stay there again next summer.”
</p>

<p id="id1035108"><span id="id118356"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox
should be.”
</p>

<p id="id1035115"><span id="id118364"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there.  He sat
by her at dinner.  Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would
be very glad to marry him.”
</p>

<p id="id1035123"><span id="id118374"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Very likely.—I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar
girls in Highbury.”
</p>

<p id="id1035129"><span id="id118382"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Harriet had business at Ford’s.—Emma thought it most prudent to go
with her.  Another accidental meeting with the Martins was possible,
and in her present state, would be dangerous.
</p>

<p id="id1035137"><span id="id118394"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Harriet, tempted by every thing and swayed by half a word, was always
very long at a purchase; and while she was still hanging over muslins
and changing her mind, Emma went to the door for amusement.—Much could
not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury;—
Mr. Perry walking hastily by, Mr. William Cox letting himself in at
the office-door, Mr. Cole’s carriage-horses returning from exercise,
or a stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule, were the liveliest
objects she could presume to expect; and when her eyes fell only on
the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards from
shop with her full basket, two curs quarrelling over a dirty bone,
and a string of dawdling children round the baker’s little bow-window
eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had no reason to complain,
and was amused enough; quite enough still to stand at the door. 
A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see
nothing that does not answer.
</p>

<p id="id1035140"><span id="id118402"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
She looked down the Randalls road.  The scene enlarged;
two persons appeared; Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law; they were
walking into Highbury;—to Hartfield of course.  They were stopping,
however, in the first place at Mrs. Bates’s; whose house was
a little nearer Randalls than Ford’s; and had all but knocked,
when Emma caught their eye.—Immediately they crossed the road
and came forward to her; and the agreeableness of yesterday’s
engagement seemed to give fresh pleasure to the present meeting. 
Mrs. Weston informed her that she was going to call on the Bateses,
in order to hear the new instrument.
</p>

<p id="id1035110"><span id="id118406"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“For my companion tells me,” said she, “that I absolutely promised
Miss Bates last night, that I would come this morning.  I was
not aware of it myself.  I did not know that I had fixed a day,
but as he says I did, I am going now.”
</p>

<p id="id1035147"><span id="id118418"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope,”
said Frank Churchill, “to join your party and wait for her at Hartfield—
if you are going home.”
</p>

<p id="id1035160"><span id="id118429"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Mrs. Weston was disappointed.
</p>

<p id="id1035163"><span id="id118434"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I thought you meant to go with me.  They would be very much pleased.”
</p>

<p id="id1035170"><span id="id118441"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Me!  I should be quite in the way.  But, perhaps—I may be equally
in the way here.  Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not want me. 
My aunt always sends me off when she is shopping.  She says I fidget
her to death; and Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say
the same.  What am I to do?”
</p>

<p id="id1035173"><span id="id118446"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I am here on no business of my own,” said Emma; “I am only waiting
for my friend.  She will probably have soon done, and then we
shall go home.  But you had better go with Mrs. Weston and hear
the instrument.”
</p>

<p id="id1035181"><span id="id118459"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Well—if you advise it.—But (with a smile) if Colonel Campbell
should have employed a careless friend, and if it should prove
to have an indifferent tone—what shall I say?  I shall be no
support to Mrs. Weston.  She might do very well by herself. 
A disagreeable truth would be palatable through her lips, but I
am the wretchedest being in the world at a civil falsehood.”
</p>

<p id="id1035185"><span id="id118464"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I do not believe any such thing,” replied Emma.—“I am persuaded
that you can be as insincere as your neighbours, when it is necessary;
but there is no reason to suppose the instrument is indifferent. 
Quite otherwise indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax’s opinion
last night.”
</p>

<p id="id1035188"><span id="id118469"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Do come with me,” said Mrs. Weston, “if it be not very disagreeable
to you.  It need not detain us long.  We will go to Hartfield afterwards. 
We will follow them to Hartfield.  I really wish you to call with me. 
It will be felt so great an attention! and I always thought you
meant it.”
</p>

<p id="id1035191"><span id="id118474"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He could say no more; and with the hope of Hartfield to reward him,
returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates’s door.  Emma watched them in,
and then joined Harriet at the interesting counter,—trying, with all
the force of her own mind, to convince her that if she wanted plain
muslin it was of no use to look at figured; and that a blue ribbon,
be it ever so beautiful, would still never match her yellow pattern. 
At last it was all settled, even to the destination of the parcel.
</p>

<p id="id1035194"><span id="id118481"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard’s, ma’am?” asked Mrs. Ford.—
“Yes—no—yes, to Mrs. Goddard’s. Only my pattern gown is
at Hartfield.  No, you shall send it to Hartfield, if you please. 
But then, Mrs. Goddard will want to see it.—And I could take the
pattern gown home any day.  But I shall want the ribbon directly—
so it had better go to Hartfield—at least the ribbon.  You could
make it into two parcels, Mrs. Ford, could not you?”
</p>

<p id="id1035197"><span id="id118485"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the trouble
of two parcels.”
</p>

<p id="id1035165"><span id="id118492"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“No more it is.”
</p>

<p id="id1035206"><span id="id118498"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“No trouble in the world, ma’am,” said the obliging Mrs. Ford.
</p>

<p id="id1035212"><span id="id118506"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Oh! but indeed I would much rather have it only in one. 
Then, if you please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard’s—
I do not know—No, I think, Miss Woodhouse, I may just as well
have it sent to Hartfield, and take it home with me at night. 
What do you advise?”
</p>

<p id="id1035215"><span id="id118511"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“That you do not give another half-second to the subject. 
To Hartfield, if you please, Mrs. Ford.”
</p>

<p id="id1035218"><span id="id118520"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Aye, that will be much best,” said Harriet, quite satisfied,
“I should not at all like to have it sent to Mrs. Goddard’s.”
</p>

<p id="id1035229"><span id="id118529"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Voices approached the shop—or rather one voice and two ladies: 
Mrs. Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door.
</p>

<p id="id1035238"><span id="id118538"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“My dear Miss Woodhouse,” said the latter, “I am just run across to
entreat the favour of you to come and sit down with us a little while,
and give us your opinion of our new instrument; you and Miss Smith. 
How do you do, Miss Smith?—Very well I thank you.—And I begged
Mrs. Weston to come with me, that I might be sure of succeeding.”
</p>

<p id="id1035241"><span id="id118543"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are—”
</p>

<p id="id1035245"><span id="id118550"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Very well, I am much obliged to you.  My mother is delightfully well;
and Jane caught no cold last night.  How is Mr. Woodhouse?—I am so glad
to hear such a good account.  Mrs. Weston told me you were here.—
Oh! then, said I, I must run across, I am sure Miss Woodhouse will
allow me just to run across and entreat her to come in; my mother
will be so very happy to see her—and now we are such a nice party,
she cannot refuse.—‘Aye, pray do,’ said Mr. Frank Churchill,
‘Miss Woodhouse’s opinion of the instrument will be worth having.’—
But, said I, I shall be more sure of succeeding if one of you will go
with me.—‘Oh,’ said he, ‘wait half a minute, till I have finished
my job;’—For, would you believe it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is,
in the most obliging manner in the world, fastening in the rivet of my
mother’s spectacles.—The rivet came out, you know, this morning.—
So very obliging!—For my mother had no use of her spectacles—
could not put them on.  And, by the bye, every body ought to have
two pair of spectacles; they should indeed.  Jane said so. 
I meant to take them over to John Saunders the first thing I did,
but something or other hindered me all the morning; first one thing,
then another, there is no saying what, you know.  At one time Patty came
to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweeping.  Oh, said I,
Patty do not come with your bad news to me.  Here is the rivet
of your mistress’s spectacles out.  Then the baked apples came home,
Mrs. Wallis sent them by her boy; they are extremely civil and
obliging to us, the Wallises, always—I have heard some people
say that Mrs. Wallis can be uncivil and give a very rude answer,
but we have never known any thing but the greatest attention
from them.  And it cannot be for the value of our custom now,
for what is our consumption of bread, you know?  Only three of us.—
besides dear Jane at present—and she really eats nothing—makes such
a shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened if you saw it. 
I dare not let my mother know how little she eats—so I say one
thing and then I say another, and it passes off.  But about the
middle of the day she gets hungry, and there is nothing she likes
so well as these baked apples, and they are extremely wholesome,
for I took the opportunity the other day of asking Mr. Perry;
I happened to meet him in the street.  Not that I had any doubt before—
I have so often heard Mr. Woodhouse recommend a baked apple. 
I believe it is the only way that Mr. Woodhouse thinks the
fruit thoroughly wholesome.  We have apple-dumplings, however,
very often.  Patty makes an excellent apple-dumpling. Well,
Mrs. Weston, you have prevailed, I hope, and these ladies will
oblige us.”
</p>

<p id="id1035249"><span id="id118555"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma would be “very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates, &amp;c.,” and they
did at last move out of the shop, with no farther delay from Miss
Bates than,
</p>

<p id="id1035251"><span id="id118569"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“How do you do, Mrs. Ford?  I beg your pardon.  I did not see
you before.  I hear you have a charming collection of new ribbons
from town.  Jane came back delighted yesterday.  Thank ye,
the gloves do very well—only a little too large about the wrist;
but Jane is taking them in.”
</p>

<p id="id1035252"><span id="id118573"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“What was I talking of?” said she, beginning again when they were
all in the street.
</p>

<p id="id1035269"><span id="id118580"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix.
</p>

<p id="id1035263"><span id="id118586"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.—Oh! my
mother’s spectacles.  So very obliging of Mr. Frank Churchill! 
‘Oh!’ said he, ‘I do think I can fasten the rivet; I like a job
of this kind excessively.’—Which you know shewed him to be so
very. . . . Indeed I must say that, much as I had heard of him
before and much as I had expected, he very far exceeds any
thing. . . . I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, most warmly. 
He seems every thing the fondest parent could. . . . ‘Oh!’ said he,
‘I can fasten the rivet.  I like a job of that sort excessively.’ 
I never shall forget his manner.  And when I brought out the baked
apples from the closet, and hoped our friends would be so very
obliging as to take some, ‘Oh!’ said he directly, ‘there is nothing
in the way of fruit half so good, and these are the finest-looking
home-baked apples I ever saw in my life.’  That, you know, was so
very. . . . And I am sure, by his manner, it was no compliment. 
Indeed they are very delightful apples, and Mrs. Wallis does them
full justice—only we do not have them baked more than twice,
and Mr. Woodhouse made us promise to have them done three times—
but Miss Woodhouse will be so good as not to mention it.  The apples
themselves are the very finest sort for baking, beyond a doubt;
all from Donwell—some of Mr. Knightley’s most liberal supply. 
He sends us a sack every year; and certainly there never was such
a keeping apple anywhere as one of his trees—I believe there
is two of them.  My mother says the orchard was always famous
in her younger days.  But I was really quite shocked the other day—
for Mr. Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eating these apples,
and we talked about them and said how much she enjoyed them,
and he asked whether we were not got to the end of our stock. 
‘I am sure you must be,’ said he, ‘and I will send you
another supply; for I have a great many more than I can ever use. 
William Larkins let me keep a larger quantity than usual this year. 
I will send you some more, before they get good for nothing.’ 
So I begged he would not—for really as to ours being gone, I could
not absolutely say that we had a great many left—it was but half
a dozen indeed; but they should be all kept for Jane; and I could
not at all bear that he should be sending us more, so liberal as he
had been already; and Jane said the same.  And when he was gone,
she almost quarrelled with me—No, I should not say quarrelled,
for we never had a quarrel in our lives; but she was quite distressed
that I had owned the apples were so nearly gone; she wished I had
made him believe we had a great many left.  Oh, said I, my dear,
I did say as much as I could.  However, the very same evening
William Larkins came over with a large basket of apples, the same
sort of apples, a bushel at least, and I was very much obliged,
and went down and spoke to William Larkins and said every thing,
as you may suppose.  William Larkins is such an old acquaintance! 
I am always glad to see him.  But, however, I found afterwards
from Patty, that William said it was all the apples of that sort
his master had; he had brought them all—and now his master had not
one left to bake or boil.  William did not seem to mind it himself,
he was so pleased to think his master had sold so many; for William,
you know, thinks more of his master’s profit than any thing;
but Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at their being
all sent away.  She could not bear that her master should not be
able to have another apple-tart this spring.  He told Patty this,
but bid her not mind it, and be sure not to say any thing to us
about it, for Mrs. Hodges would be cross sometimes, and as long as
so many sacks were sold, it did not signify who ate the remainder. 
And so Patty told me, and I was excessively shocked indeed! 
I would not have Mr. Knightley know any thing about it for
the world!  He would be so very. . . . I wanted to keep it from
Jane’s knowledge; but, unluckily, I had mentioned it before I was
aware.”
</p>

<p id="id1035276"><span id="id118592"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door; and her visitors
walked upstairs without having any regular narration to attend to,
pursued only by the sounds of her desultory good-will.
</p>

<p id="id1035286"><span id="id118600"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
“Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turning. 
Pray take care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase—
rather darker and narrower than one could wish.  Miss Smith,
pray take care.  Miss Woodhouse, I am quite concerned, I am sure you
hit your foot.  Miss Smith, the step at the turning.”
</p>



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